


Swansong

by whiskey_ink



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: BAMF Brienne, Don't worry the death is Cersei, Fix-It, Gen, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I have many feels after that episode, Past Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Valonqar Prophecy, oathkeeper, post 8x04, that's over it's cancelled
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 13:59:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18779695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskey_ink/pseuds/whiskey_ink
Summary: “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”The words cut through the haze in Jaime’s head, dragging him back to full consciousness. There was no way that Brienne of Tarth could really be here.  He’d made sure of that.“Gods, who let the ugliest Lady in Westeros into my castle?” Cersei drawled, amused by her own insult.“Ugliest knight,” Brienne corrected. “And I let myself in.”





	Swansong

**Author's Note:**

> I should be working, but I'm still too devastated by 5x04. So this happened.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The words cut through the haze in Jaime’s head, dragging him back to full consciousness.

His first thought was that this morning’s beating at the hands of The Mountain- punishment betraying Cersei and riding north- had finally knocked something loose in his head. Chained in the throne room of the Red Keep, waiting for Danaerys to make her final desperate manoeuvre and _burn them all,_ it appeared he had finally succumbed to the insanity that plagued the two Queens.

For there was no way that Brienne of Tarth could really be here.  He’d made sure of that.

“Gods, who let the ugliest Lady in Westeros into my castle?” Cersei drawled, amused by her own insult. If she too could see Brienne, then she must also be part of this illusion. Perhaps he was dead, and this was hell.

“Ugliest _knight,”_ Brienne corrected. “And I let myself in.”

Battling the pounding in his skull, Jaime forced his eyes to open. He was still in the same position as he had been when he lost consciousness, and he scrambled to raise sit up and raise his head.

For a moment, everything glowed white-hot, and he feared that the city was already aflame. But as his eyes adjusted, the light faded, and he could see clearly. The evening sun still burned as though he’d drunk an entire barrel of ale, yet he could see a tall, broad silhouette outlined against the window. As she stepped forward, out of the patch of sun, her features became visible. Hair dishevelled, face scratched, lips set in a thin line. Oathkeeper shone crimson at her waist, leaving no question as to how her entry had been achieved.

Fuck. She was real. He couldn’t be imagining this, not when he could practically feel Cersei’s rage pouring across the room.

“You, a knight?” Cersei asked incredulously. Despite his predicament and the fear roiling in his chest, Jaime smiled.

“It is no more unlikely than the power you have acquired. One can do extraordinary things with the support of Jaime Lannister.”

Then, Brienne acknowledged him for the first time, eyes meeting his with an intensity that burned. There were none of the tears that were present when they parted, no grief nor fear. Only confidence and strength. His heart stuttered. Even fresh from battle, _especially_ fresh from battle, she stole the breath from his lungs.

“His death would be quite the loss to the realm. I have come to propose a deal.”

Cersei, overcoming her rage at the earlier insinuations, scoffed at the last part. “I already told the Dragon child, there is nothing-”

“I am here as the vassal of the Lady of Winterfell,” Brienne interjected, stunning Cersei into silence once again. “In exchange for your immediate and complete surrender, Lady Sansa will spare the life of you child. You will have six moons’ grace in which to birth and nurture the babe, after which you will be allowed to choose the method of your passing.”

Jaime was flummoxed, once more beginning to question if this was some fever dream, but Cersei just laughed. A high, mad laugh it was, and it made him shiver. She hadn’t used to laugh like that.  

“The Stark bitch would never offer such terms. Not after what I did to her family.” A prideful smile twisted her beautiful face, hinting at the demon within. “Your tricks will not fool me.”

“I agree, it is better than you deserve.” Brienne took a step forward, boots heavy against the flagstone. It brought her a little closer to Jaime, and he cursed the chains that kept him from putting himself between the two women. He might be a sorry excuse for a knight, but the instinct to _protect_ was coursing through his every bone. “But Lady Sansa knows that your one redeeming quality is your unconditional love for your children. For the good of every man, woman and child in Westeros, Lady Sansa is willing to give you this mercy.”

Cersei stood, descending the steps from the throne’s dais and walking to the window. Her hair was gilded by the evening light, but it lacked the lustre it once had. Her face was hidden, but he knew that too showed signs of the stress she had been under for so long. She still looked the youngest of the three siblings, but age had finally crept up on her, and it would ravage her quickly now.

“Cersei,” Jaime said quietly, the word cracking as he finally found his voice. “Take the deal. Please.”

“You’d beg for the life of a child that isn’t yours?” she taunted, turning away from the window, disgust written clear on her face.

“I don’t care if it is or it isn’t.” He sounded so, so tired, even to his own ears. With the exhaustion came a numbness that he welcomed with great relief. Her barbed tongue could not injure him anymore. “But I broke an oath to stop this city burning once. I cannot let it happen now.”

She rolled her eyes, dismissing his talk of oaths. She had never cared for honour. It was why he had given up on it himself.

“Why come for me?” Cersei asked Brienne. “Why not kill the Dragon whore?”

“Should Daenerys fall, her army would still fight to in her name. You do not inspire that same loyalty.”

Cersei did not like that answer. All her cool bravado fell away, and it seemed her rage alone could set the Red Keep alight.

“You’d be surprised at the _loyalty_ the Lannister coffers can buy.”

From behind a curtain stepped the hulking figure of The Mountain, or what was left of him. He positively dwarfed Brienne, something which seemed as illogical as it was terrifying. Yet, she held her ground, knuckles white against the pommel of Oathkeeper.

The monstrous warrior leaned down and tore at the chain holding Jaime to the ground. A link broke with little effort, and he was dragged up and towards Cersei. He staggered, but just managed to keep his footing. He would not fall before her now.

“Does this mean you do not accept Lady Stark’s terms of surrender?” Brienne asked, calmer than he ever thought she could have sounded given the circumstances. Perhaps he had wounded her too deeply for his own life to be of concern to her anymore. He’d done his very best to ensure she did not follow him South, and yet here she was. It seemed he would be going to the grave with one more regret upon his shoulders. Gods, she deserved better than this.

Cersei smiled her cruel, cruel smile. Jaime hung his head in defeat, eyes closing against the onslaught of hopelessness.

“Sansa Stark can go to hell. It will be quite the family reunion.”

Silence blanketed the throne room for one long, pregnant moment. Then, there sounded an almighty crack, like breaking bone. Jaime could scarcely bring himself to look.

Brienne still stood, unmoved by the sudden explosion of sound and movement. The space beside Jaime was empty, Cersei now crumpled against the wall where he had previously been shackled.

And in the place of The Mountain stood little Arya Stark, holding what looked like a crumpled wineskin in her hand.

“You’re going to regret saying that,” she said.

Cersei’s expression was one of pain and utter confusion. Jaime, too, was at a loss. What the hell had just happened?

“You’ve been at the top of my list since I was a child,” Arya said in that icy voice, spinning her needle-like sword in a graceful arc, utterly unconcerned by the woman gasping at her feet. “But I have killed Death himself. Now, you are no one.”

Cersei looked haunted. “You’re Arya Stark.”

“Yes. I am now.”

Arya dropped Jaime’s chain and used the now-free hand to remove the dagger from her belt. She held it out to him, one eyebrow raised.

Jaime looked at Cersei, hand twitching. He could see it in her eyes; she knew she had lost. But there was something else there too. One final spark of denial.

From beneath the folds of her skirt, she removed a small green vial. At first glance, Jaime thought it to be poison. Then, looking more closely at the roiling substance within, his heart dropped.

_Burn them all_.

Half-falling forwards, he dropped to his knees before Cersei and pinned her wrist to the stone wall, golden hand at her neck to hold her still.

“Get it away from her!” he shouted. “Don’t let it break!”

Arya started to ask a question, but Brienne knew already what he was speaking of. She had begun moving even as he had, and was by his side in a heartbeat. Gripping Cersei’s wrist tighter, her fingers relaxed, and the vial fell into Brienne’s waiting hand.

“There’s more,” Cersei hissed. “If the Targaryan whore wishes to rule this land, all she will have is ashes. A fitting kingdom for a dragon queen.”

Jaime turned to Brienne. She held the vial of wildfire so carefully, almost tenderly. Then again, he had known for while how gentle her warrior’s hands could be.

Her gaze was blue and steady, and she nodded once, giving encouragement and benediction and a thousand other hidden things.

He looked back to Cersei, meeting the eyes that mirrored his own for the final time.

Each of the Lannister children had their addictions. It was a symptom of being born into a pride of lions, a house with expectations no mere human could ever hope to fulfil whilst retaining that humanity. Tyrion turned to his drink, Cersei craved power, and Jaime… well, Jaime’s addiction had only ever been her.

He’d expected them all to die from these addictions, for them even. He’d accepted that her lust for power would someday be greater than her desire for him, that it would lead to the death of them both. To leave this world as they had entered it- together- had been his greatest wish. Tyrion, last of the Lannister pride, would follow soon after, drowning his sorrows and himself in the process.

He had always thought she’d be the death of him, not the other way around.

That had changed somewhere along the Kingsroad, though which particular time, he couldn’t be sure.

Jaime’s remaining hand touched her cheek, ignoring the way she flinched away from him.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

That hand slipped down to join the gold at her throat, and the last spark of defiance faded from Cersei’s eyes as he squeezed.

The apology continued to fall from his lips even as hers turned blue, and her eyes shot through with red. It was the mirror of Joffrey’s death, and Jaime couldn’t help but feel that it was right, that mother and son, so similar in all the wrong ways, would suffer such similar ends. He also knew that this was the only way it could have ended. No knife in her chest, no fire licking her porcelain skin. Only his hands around her throat, intimate in a way they never had been before. He could not stop the memories from coming, flashing images of every time he had worshipped at the marble altar of her neck and left it blushed and bruised.

The memories were so vivid that hearing his name failed to break the spell. Only Brienne’s hand moving over his, gripping his fingers and gently pulling them away, returned him to the present.

“She’s gone, Jaime,” said Brienne.

Finally tearing his gaze away from Cersei’s unseeing eyes- he understood, now- he looked around the room, dazed.

Arya Stark was nowhere to be seen, and nor was the vial of wildfire. She’s slipped away like a wolf in the night, carrying with her the liquid fire and tidings of the death of the Queen.

Jaime did not realise there were tears on his cheeks until Brienne wiped one away with her gauntleted thumb.  

“I’m sorry it had to be you,” she said, face so tender that he began to sob.

She took him in her arms, and beside the body of his sister, his twin, his other half, Jaime felt a part of his soul die. He cried for what he had done, and for what he had lost, and for everything he had saved.

Cersei had not shed a single tear, even at the end of all things. It was one of the few things he recognised of the girl he used to know.

When he could finally breathe again, Jaime unbuckled the golden hand from his wrist and laid it down beside Cersei’s limp fingers, just barely touching.

Then, he stood, held steady by Brienne’s warm strength.

Without a backwards glance, he strode to the door. He didn’t need to look behind; he knew what he would see.

The body of a golden girl, holding the golden hand of a ghostly golden boy. The possibility of their child lay in-between. The remains of the most beautiful and most evil children of Westeros. He hoped that somewhere, whatever innocence they ever had was being remembered by the gods. If not, at least the Three-Eyed Raven would understand, and they would live on in the eternal memory of man.

A lion he would always be, but no longer gold. Now he was grey and crippled and missing parts of himself that he would never get back.

He had ridden south to hill her, fully expecting to die in the process. He’d been counting on it, for how could one half of a whole, one broken Oathbreaker, carry on?

And yet, he had survived the loss of his right hand- his sword hand. The thing he had considered to be his most valuable attribute. Was losing Cersei really so different? He would learn how to navigate this new world, find a way to carve out a future with the parts he had left. He hoped they were the better parts.   

With Brienne of Tarth shoring up his weak side, slotting her fingers between his and filling the empty spaces with skin and bone and sheer force of will, he thought he could do more than just survive.

She had saved him for the second time.

And this time, he would _live._

**Author's Note:**

> A girl can dream, right?  
> I'm hoping that canon won't totally destroy me but if it does I'll probably write more of this to deal with the trauma. Yay.


End file.
